Exception to the rule . . . Judy Swan has used the Strehlow Research Centre for genealogies, after her father gave permission. Photo: Steven Siewert

An Aboriginal elder once described it as an atom bomb because of the spiritual power of the 1200 ceremonial men's objects it houses.

A former Sydney journalist, Shane Hersey, understands. As research officer at the Strehlow Research Centre in Alice Springs he is one of only two white men allowed to view the objects.

"It is a bit like an arsenal, but I don't have the firing pin," he said. "I can't use it anyway."

He described the building that houses the late linguist professor Ted Strehlow's writing, audio tapes and films of secret Arrernte men's ceremonies as "a bizarre kind of library in a Western way of thinking".

"We have all these secret/sacred objects. The only people who can have access to them are the traditional owners - but they belong to the Northern Territory Government."

Every object or "tjurunga" is available for loan to any Arrernte man who can prove that, under his people's traditional law, he owns the story connected with it.

"If they need to take it away for a ceremony, they can," Mr Hersey said. "We check it out like you'd check out a book from a library. They'll take it with them and have the ceremony and then bring it back and store it here."

Strehlow, who thought of himself as an Arrernte man in white skin, documented the secret, sacred stories in a 300 kilometre radius around Alice Springs between the 1930s and 1970s because he was convinced they would disappear.

The centre that houses the fruits of his life's work is shunned by some Aborigines who dislike white men's hold over black men's business.

But others are glad of it. Every year, there are about 100 inquiries from Arrernte males aged 14 to over 80, Mr Hersey said.

"Everything is done in secret. I don't even tell the other Aboriginal men who come in here," he said.

No woman could ever view this men's business. But women can research their genealogies. Strehlow collected 150, including that of Judy Swan, an Arrernte woman, aged 50, whose great grandfather was a white station owner, Gus Elliot.

She got permission from her late father to trace her family tree, which would previously have been impossible because of the ban on saying dead people's full names in her culture.

"It makes you see where people fit in," she said.

Mr Hersey said that when he has compiled Strehlow's short scenes to screen films of ceremonies, joy is the main response.

"It is the opposite of Hollywood," he said. "You only make films to be seen by three or four men, because they're the only ones who are authorised to see them."

The centre also allows "digital repatriation". It can give men a package of film, images of tjurungas, photos and diary extracts about their stories - on VHS, CD or DVD.

Mr Hersey and the centre's acting director, David Lloyd, the other white man with access, cannot afford one mistake when they allow other eyes over the collection.

Strehlow's credibility was destroyed for some people in the 1970s when his photos of secret ceremonies appeared in popular magazines.

Mr Hersey knows he is privileged. Why is he trusted? "I'm just a dumb whitefella who doesn't understand anything," he said. "I just help them access it."